Different
by Saucie
Summary: Will Stanton had always thought he was two people - both entirely different from one another. It just needed a talk with someone who understood and yet didn't to make him realise that that was not how it was.


DIFFERENT.  
  
He sat slightly apart from the rest, facing the fire. The leaping flames were reflected in his eyes, so that his gaze seemed a mixture of red and orange and gold, not the calm blue everyone knew. But no one was looking at him, then. They were sitting in a circle in the middle of the room, talking and laughing and planning.  
  
Planning. He smiled to himself. He was the one who should be planning. He was the one who was immortal, who would live forever. They would be here, and then they would be gone. They would leave this world. Leave him. Everyone would leave him.  
  
His closest brother was talking, now. His voice was happy, excited. " . . . and I almost turned wrong, see, but I remembered that last rule right at the last moment . . . "  
  
He smiled slightly again. The not-quite-human part of him could reflect upon the triviality of what his brother was talking about, and smile. But the sixteen-year-old boy in him found it in himself to wish that he was older - that he was old enough to get his learner's driving license also, instead of just having to listen to James brag about passing his driving test.  
  
Wish that he were older. He almost laughed out loud. Hadn't he learned that he inhabited a different time scale yet? Hadn't he realised that one day he would be so, so old, and yet never old enough to die? That he could pass over, someday, but never die? He should be taking advantage of every minute he had . . . and here he was wishing he was older.  
  
He could hear his sister Mary's voice now. "That doesn't mean Dad will let you have the car all the time," she said loftily as she entered the room.  
  
James smirked. "You're just jealous 'cause he didn't let you have the car," he said.  
  
"Easy, easy," grinned his oldest brother. He, too, was at home, for a change. "Don't start fighting already. You ought to be a little magnanimous today, Jamie."  
  
James puffed out his chest and grinned. "I forgive you, Mary," he said, lying down on his back close to the fire. "Why're you so quiet, Will?"  
  
He looked down at James's face, so like his own - the same straight brown hair, slightly round face, blue eyes . . . Turning back to the fire, he said, "No reason. Just thinking."  
  
"Don't worry, Will," said Barbara from somewhere behind him. He turned. "You'll get your license next year. I remember what it felt like for Paul and Robin to be able to drive and I had to wait. And that was two of them to boast about it."  
  
"I didn't boast," said Paul in a wounded voice, from where he was polishing his flute.  
  
"Robin made up for you," returned Barbara, grinning.  
  
"Hey," protested Robin mildly. He adjusted himself more comfortably and continued, "I know it's worse 'cause everyone can drive and you can't, but that's okay, Will . . . "  
  
He smiled back at Robin, appreciating their thoughts. He knew how they always took special care of him, as the youngest - all of them. He'd never heard anyone but himself sympathising with James when Mary learnt how to drive. The irony of it was that he was perhaps the oldest of them already.  
  
The talk turned to other things - Stephen's promotion, Paul's latest concert, Mary's university, Gwen's new job. He sat there, listening, wondering what it would be like to live without them, to know that they were gone, and he would never see them again, even when he - passed over - because he would never die, like them. He stood up, stepping over James' prone form as he headed outside. He heard James ask him where he was going, and shouted back that he was heading over to the Dawsons' for the hay.  
  
That was an excuse, and he knew it. But that way, he hoped that no one would follow him. He didn't want to talk to anybody right now. He walked over to the barn and sat down against the nearest wall, taking in the cloudless sky and glittering stars. Would the sky look the same five hundred years from now? He didn't know. He would find out one day, he supposed.  
  
Everything was quiet, now. The chickens and rabbits were asleep. The dogs, old and feeble now, were inside, probably with his mother in the kitchen. She hated having them in the kitchen, but that was where they were always to be found these days. He had just closed his eyes, enjoying the cool autumn breeze, when he heard the sound of footsteps.  
  
"Will?" It was Paul's voice, quiet and sympathetic, but not worried.  
  
"I'm here." He would have liked to have kept quiet, but it was only Paul . . . Paul usually understood, although this no one could possibly understand.  
  
Paul rounded the corner and saw him. He stopped, and looked as if he would have said something, but instead just came closer and seated himself next to him. After a pause, he said in the same low voice, "Are you okay?"  
  
"I'm fine," he responded automatically.  
  
Paul looked at him quietly. "I don't think so."  
  
He shrugged. "I'm all right," he repeated mechanically.  
  
They sat in silence for a while, and then Paul began to speak. He spoke as if he had been wanting to say this for a while, and yet as if he had just been thinking of it. His voice was quiet, and soft, and sympathetic, and Will couldn't help but listen. "I'm twenty-three now, Will. You're sixteen. People change over time. Of course they do. Especially when they're growing up. And when you do grow older - and, some would say, wiser - you think that stupid things you imagined when you were little are exactly that: stupid."  
  
Will stared at him, wondering where this was leading. He hoped he wouldn't have to use his powers to make him forget, suddenly.  
  
"But when I was younger, I made a promise to myself. I promised that when I was a 'grown-up', I wouldn't put down what I believed when I was smaller as stupid, childish imaginings - which is exactly what I've been doing. Five years ago, Will, you were eleven. I was eighteen. You were my baby brother. End of story. But that wasn't it, was it, Will?"  
  
Will said nothing. He could think of nothing to say. All he knew was that he would have to become an Old One again, would have to make Paul forget if he said anything too close to the truth. And he knew he would regret it forever.  
  
"No, that's not how it was. You changed then, Will. Did you think we wouldn't notice? Did you think that I wouldn't realise? How can you have possibly thought that? I know how all of you think of me. I'm the quiet twin, the one who doesn't speak up, doesn't put himself forward. Well, perhaps that just lets me see more." He stopped, drawing breath.  
  
"What do you want to say, Paul?" said Will quietly. He wanted to get it over quickly, make him forget before he said too much - said things that would burn in his brain till the end of his days . . . and he had a lot of days to go.  
  
"Nothing. There's nothing I can say, really." Paul looked fixedly in front, as if suddenly realising he had said too much.  
  
That was an answer Will hadn't expected. "What do you mean, nothing?"  
  
"Because I don't know anything, Will." He kept staring in front of him, out at the lighted windows of the house. "I just wanted to - to let you know - that I know you're different. That's all. You were always different, but . . . I think you need to be told other people know you are."  
  
"Everyone says I'm different. Daft, more like," he said lightly, trying to make it into a joke, to pretend that Paul wasn't trying to make it easier for him to tell him everything.  
  
"You know that's not what I mean, Will," said Paul severely, still not looking at him. "Look, I - I know things. I don't know how - I just do. I remember that when we got out of the church on Christmas five years ago, I felt . . . differently . . . about you. That doesn't make sense to me. I mean, I don't remember anything that made me feel that way about you. I can't describe the feeling; it's not awe, or respect, or - or fear. Just an awareness, of - of something - "  
  
"Like I feel around Bran." The words were out of Will's mouth before he could stop them, and he berated himself strongly for saying it out loud.  
  
"Huh?" said Paul. "Who?"  
  
"No one," he said quickly. "Go on."  
  
Paul said nothing, only turned and looked at him. After a pause, he said, "I'm not going to say anything, okay, Will? Nothing. Call it hesitance - I don't care. I'm not going to give you my suspicions, or guesses, or whatever. But I know that you're different from us, all right? So that you don't need to force yourself to be like us, like you were when you were eleven. You're not like that. If you are different, then be that way. Don't pretend to be something you're not."  
  
"But I'm both things." He couldn't help himself, he had to say it. "What I show half the time, I am, and what only - only you see, is also who I am. I can't help that."  
  
Paul said nothing for a minute. Finally, he said, "I'd like to say that I'll always be there for you, if you ever need to talk, but I can't. Because I won't always be there. And I think - don't ask why - that you'll be here much longer than I will. Don't tell me whether I'm right or wrong, because . . . I just don't want you to tell me. That might leave me with another - feeling. I know you understand."  
  
There was silence. Will could hear nothing but the wind rustling through the trees, and the low sound of laughter coming from the living room. It was getting cooler; it was late autumn and neither of them had brought their jackets.  
  
Finally, Paul spoke again. "So you get what I'm trying to say, don't you, Will? I know you're different, and that's okay. Do you get that? It's all right. You might not like it, and I know you get all depressed about it, but it'll be okay. Seriously. And in the meantime, enjoy both sides of yourself. Because you wouldn't be you without them. Take advantage of both - savour the time you have, and don't berate yourself for longing for the future, because that longing is part of you. And," Paul's voice suddenly became brisker, "if you think that nobody realises, just remember, you're a lot more transparent than you think you are."  
  
Will opened his mouth, not knowing what he was going to say but wanting to say something anyway, when a head suddenly poked around the corner of the barn, and Barbara's voice said, "Dinner, both of you?"  
  
"Coming," said Paul, standing up and brushing himself off. "Coming, Will?"  
  
"In a moment," he said, looking up at him.  
  
Paul smiled. "Okay." He and Barbara turned to go, then Paul stopped. "Don't stay out too long without something warm, all right?"  
  
Will laughed suddenly, and nodded. "I won't," he said, as the other two went back inside. He settled back against the barn door, more content than he had been in ages.  
  
Content with both sides of himself.  
  
Both sides of ~him~. He wasn't two separate people, he was one person with two separate ways of thinking. He was different.  
  
Different.  
  
And that was okay. It couldn't be helped, and it was all right. For now. There was no point in worrying about the next five hundred years he would remain in this world. And there was no point in worrying about not having his family. Because one side of him would have them, always, and the other - the Old One - didn't need them.  
  
He stood up, looking across at the grassy lawn. By the time his family grew old, and was gone, his other side would have aged the same way. And then the Old One would take over, and the Old One belonged solely to the Light, and nothing else. The Old One didn't need them.  
  
And his family knew he was different.  
  
And that was okay.  
  
Shouting that he didn't want dinner, he ran back inside, up the stairs to his attic, picked up the first car magazine he could find under his bed, and absorbed himself in dreams of the new Mercedes convertible.  
  
~^~^~^~^~^~^~  
  
A/N. I always loved Will's family. Always. I've probably read The Dark Is Rising a million times just to go through the parts where they are - and Silver On The Tree as well. I liked Stephen also . . . wanted to give him a part in this but it didn't work out . . . And I also wondered how Will was going to cope afterwards, with all the rest of the Old Ones having 'crossed over', and how his family was going to deal with him being different - ~if~ he didn't make them 'foooooorgeeeeet.' (Oh, and mistakes fixed, and thank you so much for pointing them out to me).  
  
Disclaimer: You don't deserve to read this if you actually think any of these characters belong to ~me~. 


End file.
